


Released

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [74]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester has had a close call and Lyle intends to spoil him rotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Released

Lyle shoved the tackle bag ahead of him out of the small entrance to the cave, gave one final wriggle and emerged into sunlight. Lester bent down to pick up the bag and Lyle saw him do his best to suppress a grimace of pain.

“I’ll take that, possum,” Lyle told him, swinging the bag over one shoulder. “I want to make sure you haven’t buggered that arm up too badly.”

A short while ago, he’d spent an anxious time freeing Lester from beneath 1`a rock that had trapped him by the arm in a small piece of passage they’d been attempting to widen. Lester claimed not to be in any pain, but Lyle had watched him moving carefully enough to give the lie to that statement.

“I’m fine,” Lester said, although the protest was clearly half-hearted.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lyle told him briskly. “I suspect I am about to give in to an uncontrollable urge to spoil you rotten. But I shall naturally deny it, even under threat of torture.”

Lester’s muddy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You must be running a temperature if you’re coming out with statements like that. If I had a thermometer handy I’d stick it up your arse just to be sure.”

Lyle grinned. “It’s a well-known fact you like sticking things up my arse, sweetums.”

Lester flipped him the finger, but Lyle noted he’d done it with his left hand, which rather gave the game away.

They walked the short distance across the fields to Drove Cottage. Lyle dumped the tackle bag outside the garage and started to strip off his filthy gear. By the time he was down to his underwear, Lester had got as far as toeing off his Wellington boots and removing his helmet and belt.

With an irritated sigh, Lester gave up a clearly unequal struggle. “Angel paws, would you do me the honour of divesting me of my oversuit?”

Lyle eased the grubby suit over Lester’s shoulders and, slowly and carefully tugged it free of his arms, doing his best not to jar his right elbow. “I thought you were never going to ask, you stubborn old bastard. You do realise this is going to put a spanner in the works of your love life, don’t you, pookie?”

“Less of the old, and I was trapped by my arm, piglet, not my cock.”

“You wank right-handed,” Lyle pointed out. He could see that Lester’s forearm was already starting to bruise and his elbow looked swollen. “I think that needs looking at properly. I’ll drive you to A&E in Weston.”

Lester shook his head emphatically. “No bloody way. There’s nothing broken. Some pain killers and anti-inflammatories and I’ll be fine. Oh, and a large whisky to wash them down with.”

Lyle rolled his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Ditzy.” He glanced at the heap of discarded kit. “I’ll sort that lot out later. Come on, you need a long, hot soak in a bath, with me pandering to your every whim.”

“This I’ve got to see,” Lester muttered, but Lyle noted that he made no attempt to argue.

They left a trail of damp footprints across the flagged floor of the cottage as Lyle went in search of the relevant tablets while Lester made his way up the wooden staircase and started to run a bath. Lyle knew perfectly well that Lester was suffering from the after-effects of the sharp spike of adrenaline that would have coursed through his system when the rock dropped onto his arm. Lyle had been trapped like that once, several years ago, and he could remember the sudden surge of panic that had accompanied the realisation that he couldn’t free his foot from a boulder that he’d dislodged on his way through a virgin piece of cave passage. The fact that he’d been on his own on the far side of a sump had added to his problems.

He shook off the thoughts. Danger went hand in hand with their chosen sport, and all they could do was exercise as much care as possible, even though it often seemed to the uninitiated that they were all stark, raving lumatics. Although it had taken him some while to convince his mother – the same mother who had been perfectly at home in a wide variety of war zones – that using explosives underground was sane or sensible.

Lyle laced two mugs of coffee liberally with whisky, grabbed the tablets and made his way upstairs. Statistically, caving was safer than either horse-riding or skiing, but he had to admit that was only if you didn’t drag cave diving into the equation.

A cloud of warm steam greeted him in the bathroom along with the sight of Lester up to his neck in a hot bath. By the look of it, he’d already rinsed the mud off his hair and body in the shower, and was now simply using the near-scalding water to soothe the bruises he’d inflicted on himself in his haste to get out of the tight rift.

Lester washed the tablets down with a mouthful of coffee, balanced the mug precariously on a corner of the bath and slid back down into the water. “I’m getting too bloody old for this lark,” he grumbled, although it sounded fairly half-heated.

Lyle looked down at him with amused tolerance. He knew perfectly well that his lover prided himself on keeping in shape. The sharp suits hid a lean body, more whip-cord than obvious muscle and Lester could hold his own in the company of cavers a decade younger than him, as could his brother Ralph.

“Can I get you anything, sugar pie, or do you just want to lie there and perv over my splendid body while I shower?”

“I like the sound of this being spoiled rotten lark,” Lester commented. He gestured languidly towards the shower with his left hand. “Yes, I think watching you in the shower is exactly what I want to do. Leave the door open, just try not to flood the whole room, there’s a good boy.”

Lyle shimmied out of his 101 Dalmations boxer shorts – the penalty of being drawn by Finn in the office Secret Santa – threw them accurately at the washing basket in the corner of the room and stepped into the shower. The hot water cascaded down over his head and shoulders, carrying away accumulated mud and sweat of a difficult couple of hours underground.

Eyes closed against the trails of shampoo, Lyle washed with the efficiency of someone who had spent most of his adult life in the army. By the time he’d rinsed his hair clean, turned off the water and stepped out to grab a towel, he was pleased to see that Lester had started to develop an erection, although he knew that was not necessarily any indicator of good health. Finn had once spent an entire evening with two heavily bandaged hands and a very inconvenient post-combat hard-on, practically begging someone to jerk him off. Blade had finally drawn the short straw, much to everyone else’s amusement.

Lyle knelt down beside the bath and leaned forward to kiss Lester lightly on the lips. “How’s the arm?”

“Sore, but I’ll live. I think I’m going to need some help getting dried, though…”

Lyle slid one hand into the water and cupped Lester’s balls, rubbing his thumb over the thick vein on the underside of his cock. “Your wish is my command, snookums.” He pulled a warm towel off the heated rail and held a hand down to his lover, pulling Lester to his feet. “Oooh, nice bruises!”

Lester looked down, his eyes taking in a long line of bruises and scrapes down his right side. “Ah, I had a feeling I might have done some damage on that exit.”

Lyle carefully ran the towel over Lester’s body, patting him dry and being sure to avoid putting any pressure in the wrong place. The skin around his elbow was swollen and already starting to turn a vivid shade of purple. Lyle very much doubted he’d be driving for a few days at least. But his elbow wasn’t the only thing that was swollen…

He wrapped his lips around the head of Lester’s cock and tongued the slit in a way he knew always found favour. Lester steadied himself with his left hand on Lyle’s shoulder.

“Christ, Jon, you look good like that.”

Lyle leaned back and looked up. “On my knees or sucking your cock?”

“Both.” Lester ran a hand through Lyle’s hair, making it stand up in damp spikes. For once his face was devoid of his habitual mask of composure and Lyle knew that the use of his first name signalled an end to their usual for the moment. Lester hesitated a moment and then said quietly, “Make love to me, please.”

Lyle smiled, stood up and captured Lester’s lips in a kiss by way of an answer.

The logistics of complying with Lester’s request without causing him any pain were going to present some difficulties, but Lyle prided himself on always rising to a challenge.

Lester settled himself down on top of the duvet, carefully not taking any weight on his injured arm. Lyle reached over and grabbed a pillow, pushing it carefully under Lester’s hips. Lester obligingly spread his legs and Lyle knelt between them, bending down to lick a long, wet stripe up Lester’s cock, feeling it twitch upwards in an attempt to follow the stimulation. He quickly slicked his fingers and stroked them lightly over his lover’s hole, easing one finger into the tight heat of Lester’s body. Lyle trailed the fingers of his left hand up and down Lester’s cock, ensuring he stayed hard while Lyle slowly pressed inside him.

“I won’t break, you know,” Lester chuckled, lifting his hips slightly to accommodate Lyle’s cock.

Lyle lightly squeezed Lester’s cock. “I’ll be the judge of that on this occasion. I still have a sneaking suspicion that you might already be broken.”

He continued to thrust gently into Lester’s body, taking his time and making sure that he did nothing to put pressure on any of his lover’s bruises or his injured arm. He angled himself so that his cock was sliding over Lester’s prostate each time, knowing that direct stimulation there was one of the things that never failed to bring him to climax. Lyle watched his cock sliding slowly in and out of Lester’s tight arse, stretching the dark ring of muscle. Even gentle pressure against Lester’s prostate was enough to draw quite gasps of pleasure from him and when combined with his cock being stroked and his nipples being teased,

Lyle knew it wouldn’t be long before he took Lester to a much-needed climax. An orgasm was still the best way to release tension that Lyle knew, which was why the lads jerked off quite so often after an op or an anomaly shout. Everyone except Blade. That crazy fucker had usually already got his rocks off without even touching himself, generally when just about everyone else had been crapping themselves with fright.

Lyle worked Lester’s cock faster while still keeping the movement of his hips slow and gentle. He could feel Lester’s arse tightening around him and knew it wouldn’t be long now before he reached the point of no return. Lyle stopped teasing his lover’s nipples and started fondling his balls instead.

Lester’s hands were both fisted in the duvet as he pushed back against Lyle’s thrusts, taking him as deeply as he could. He drew back, letting his cock slip out and his lover’s hole start to close, and then he pushed back with one long, slow slide, raking over his prostate and drawing a helpless gasp as Lester’s arse spasmed around him. Lyle watched as milky fluid pulsed out onto his lover’s stomach. A sudden rush of warmth caught Lyle unaware as his own climax washed over him and he had to take his weight on his hands as he emptied his balls deep into Lester’s arse.

“For a repressed pen-pusher, you don’t half look hot when you come,” Lyle said.

“Sweet-talking bastard,” Lester murmured. “You look pretty hot when you lick the come off my stomach as well.”

Lyle rolled his eyes. “Was that a hint, my little gummy bear?”

“Well, you did say my wish was your command. And after that, some tea and biscuits would be rather nice…”

“I’m going to regret the bit about spoiling you rotten, aren’t I?”

Lester smiled smugly up at him. “Oh yes, my little pika, you certainly are.”

Lyle bent his head to Lester's stomach, starting to lap at the pool of come, already doing his best to work out what the hell a pika was and where it lived when it was at home.

But sadly for him, the creative use of internet search engines was now strictly against the rules.


End file.
